A Blackout to Remember
by Supaslim
Summary: Dan parties a little too hard, and wakes up with a permanent reminder of that fact on his backside. Mild foul language, takes place when Daniela and Rorschach are still partners.


When Daniel rolled groggily out of bed one afternoon, he immediately knew something was very wrong.

For one thing, he was in bed, but not HIS bed. Suddenly alarmed by that revelation, he threw back the covers (silk sheets, he doesn't even OWN silk sheets!) and jumped to his feet. And then, a cool draft ran across his nether regions.

"I'm naked," he said, horrified, and something stirred behind him. Grabbing a pillow to cover himself with, he looked back towards the bed. A very ruffled woman was lying there, still deeply asleep. Drool trickled from the corner of her mouth; makeup she had never taken off was smeared across her face and her pillow.

She too, he noted, was naked, and very good looking. His face flushed when the little owl in the basement twitched with anticipation. Mortified anew, and wondering frantically how he got there, Dan began hastily searching the room for his clothes, with no luck. As the adrenaline pounded through his veins, he began to search the dresser and closet, but to no avail. All he found were women's clothes.

"What're you lookin' for, hon?" A sleepy voice asked, and Dan once again turned to the bed. The woman there was awake, and smiling contentedly at him. Whatever had happened last night, it must have been good. She sat up, giving him a very good view of her breasts, and though he tried to keep his eyes above the collarbone, they kept drifting down, making his situation downstairs more embarrassing by the second.

"Uh- clothes," he blurted. "I- I have somewhere I need to be, you see, I've got to-"

"You burned them, don't you remember?"

"I- I what? Listen, uh, miss, I don't even know who you are!" She laughed, then.

"Wow, you WERE smashed last night. Well, we met at a party, and you were already drunk and telling everybody how you were a masked hero-" she was laughing, but Daniel froze in absolute horror- fortunately, this also solved his arousal problem. He immediately went entirely limp. "- and we danced, and then we went to another party. You ended up burning everything but your briefs in the bonfire. I think you said you were demonstrating some ancient ritual?" She tittered again, and Daniel tried very hard to put two and two together. He vaguely remembered a fire, and disco lights...

"And after that?"

"I brought you home with me," she said. "You were GREAT last night."

"Where is my underwear?" Daniel said, trying very hard to remain calm. He remembered going out for drinks with Hollis at a bar, and some girls flirting with him there, but after that...

"Um," the woman thought, and glanced around the room. "I... don't remember. Well, I'm sure they'll turn up eventually..."

"What am I going to wear on the way home?" Daniel groaned, and then the women shot out of bed and bounded to the closet. He grimaced, and averted his eyes from the pleasant sight of her backside. When she turned around, she was holding out a large brown coat. He appraised it warily; it was long, and would go down to his knees.

"I was originally going to give it to my brother for Christmas, but I think you need it more," she giggled again, staring at the pillow he was still holding over his crotch. Blushing again, Daniel quickly took the coat, pulled it on, and tucked the tag out sight. He would mail it back when he-

On second thought, he tore the tag off. He imagined it would be strange to give one's brother a coat worn by a naked stranger. No, he would just mail her some money for the coat when he got home. After all, his wallet was missing... Hopefully he had left it at home, but he doubted it.

Daniel left the sexy woman's house about half an hour later, after grudgingly accepting a cup of coffee ("You look so stressed out!"). When he took to the streets, he realized where he was right away. In fact, he wasn't too far from home. It shouldn't be a long walk. Dan made sure the coat was tied tightly, and left the house, eyes darting. Even covered up, he felt strange wearing shoes with no socks (he had decided not to burn his shoes, apparently, and later discovered them near the front door of the small brownstone), and he was sure people would stare. Nobody did, though, and he walked relatively unnoticed. Still, he tried to hurry home. He didn't notice a pair of muddy brown eyes staring at him from inside a tailor's as he hurried past the large window at the front of the store. Those eyes quickly noticed the lack of socks and strange coat, and then narrowed, but their owner did nothing but turn back to his work, ginger hair glowing in the sunbeams shining through the glass.

The nearly-naked man didn't notice at all, and kept hustling. At one point, he carelessly bumped into a suited man walking the other way, apologized profusely when the man's watch got caught in his coat tie, and carried on, unaware that the bow he had tied had come undone, and his coat was only loosely held together by a single twist of the two ends of fabric around his middle.

And, of course, the worst happened when a gust of wind was channeled through the tall buildings and plowed right into him, blasting his coat open forcibly. A trio of women facing him stopped and shrieked, exposed to his nudity. He was just as stunned, and hurried to close his coat, but one of the women was already screaming "Flasher!" and calling for a policeman. Daniel glanced over his shoulder, and realized that there was a uniformed man in a blue cap pushing his way through the thin midday foot traffic. Swearing under his breath at his foul luck, Daniel retied his coat and bolted, cutting through an alley and down another road, then to his street. He could hear shouts following him, so he ran harder. He was Nite Owl! He could outrun them! He had to!

And he did. He made it home fine, albeit out of breath, and to his delight, the spare key was still where he had hid it. He hurried inside and upstairs, heart still pounding with exertion and extended humiliation. Pulling the coat off, he immediately headed to the bathroom, to take a quick shower before he searched for his wallet. He walked inside, and peered at himself in the mirror. Bags under his eyes, beer breath, mussed up hair. Yes, he had definitely had a little too much fun last night. It seemed like the sexy woman (her name was Rachel, she had told him over the rim of her own coffee mug) had clawed him hard enough to draw blood. There were red scratches on his chest and shoulders. His back burned, too, so he turned around to look at it and see what damage it took. He blinked, and looked at the wall for a moment. Looked in the mirror again.

The skin on his back was irritated and puffy, and he saw several more scratches, but that wasn't what had stopped him in his tracks. There was what appeared to be a poorly drawn Great-Horned Owl on his back, resplendent in red and green. He gaped for several minutes at the drawing. It was MASSIVE, and ran from the nape of his neck, down to his sacrum-

And he gaped again, because his buttocks had been marked, too, and it was far worse than the owl above.

There were symmetrical inkblots on his bottom, with both cheeks mirroring each other, and unlike the owl, which appeared to be drawn in marker, this was a tattoo. His face burned, and though he was mortified that some tattoo artist had put that on his ass, he was glad it wasn't somewhere more visible. The last thing he wanted was for Rorschach to see it.

Daniel started the water for his shower, intent on getting the marker off, at least. Just as he was about to step in, his phone rang, and he sighed, and left the bathroom to answer it.

"Hello?"

"Is this Daniel Dreiberg?"

"Yes, who is this?"

"Listen, buddy, I been tryin' to call you all day. You left your wallet at my tattoo parlor. Lucky you had a business card in it, eh?"

Daniel sighed, thanked the man, and returned to the bathroom before the water ran cold.

In the end, it turned out that Daniel had attended upwards of three parties that night. He had gone to the bar with Hollis, left with a pair of very beautiful women, got drunk at the first party, and then decided it was imperative he get an owl tattoo. After the owl had been drawn on by the artist, however, and before he could actually start injecting the ink, Dan had changed his mind. He wanted ink blots, instead, because Rorschach was his "absolute best friend ever, and he would do anything for him, because they were like brothers, and brothers get tattoos of each other to show they really care." Or so the tattoo guy had told him, as he was returning the wallet with a sly grin. For once, Dan was glad he was such an idiotic drunk. Nobody would ever believe that he had been telling the truth the whole time, spilling the beans about his night life over and over to no affect.

After that, he had found another party, where he met Rachel... and the rest was old news.

It didn't make his predicament any easier to deal with, though. He had a Rorschach tattoo on his butt. He supposed that meant Silk Spectre II was off limits, now. He couldn't imagine how she would react to him having his partner's symbol permanently attached to his rear end. If they got that far, anyway. As if it would have ever happened in the first place.

Nightfall came quicker than Daniel had hoped it would, and a large part of him wanted to hole up in his house to wallow in his misery rather than fight crime, but he knew Rorschach would come up and get him if he didn't show. And so, he went downstairs and changed into his costume, then powered up Archie and began to tune him up before tonight's endeavors.

Before long, a familiar figure came wandering up the tunnel that led out of the Owl's Nest. Rorschach paused in front of Archie, and then wandered over to stand silently behind Daniel, who was just finishing up a bit of work on the owl ship's belly. Sighing contentedly at a job well done, the larger man emerged from under his ship and jumped at the sight of his partner so close. Rorschach regarded him for a moment, cocked his head, and said nothing. When they both entered Archie and were flying out of the tunnel and over the city, and Daniel was still tense, though, he spoke up.

"You're being uptight, Daniel." It was said matter-of-factly, and Rorschach never looked his direction, choosing instead to sit stiffly in the copilot's seat as if he hadn't spoken at all. Daniel thought about arguing it, but knew his partner would see right through it. Instead he sighed, and opted for a version of the truth:

"I had a long day." Something changed in the atmosphere; Rorschach turned his head a fraction towards Nite Owl. It was a gesture the Owl knew well- Rorschach suspected something, and was putting pieces together in his head.

"...Enk," he finally grunted dismissively, and turned away. The tense atmosphere shattered, and Daniel relaxed. He wouldn't have been so calm if he knew that Rorschach had only refrained from questioning Dan about his day because it might compromise his cover. The Owl didn't know what he did during the daylight hours, and he wanted it to stay that way.

They found their first job of the night when they saw a gang below approaching a lone man on the sidewalk, unaware that he wasn't alone. Quickly, they landed Archie on a roof, and hurried down the fire escape, Rorschach leading the way as per usual- he was faster and nimbler, and could make it down the escapes faster. If Daniel went first, he would hold the smaller man up. And so, Daniel was still on the rusty metal ladder when Rorschach engaged the gang, preventing a mugging. He had put two on the ground by the time Daniel arrived. They were knot-tops with knives, and it was clear they weren't very experienced with them. Most of the blades were easily removed from their owners and sent skittering across the concrete and into the shadows.

They weren't fast enough, though- one gangster had hung back, and charge forward without warning, lashing out at Nite Owl with a stubby bladed knife. To the hero's dismay, it sliced right through his costume, and into flesh, right above his hip. Rorschach growled, and tackled the kid to the ground. The knife was pulled from Nite Owl's body in the process, but not before it slid down through skin and muscle in a shallow arc, right across his right buttock. Inwardly, the masked avenger groaned. Oh, it had to be TODAY.

Rorschach made short work of the remaining gangsters, and then returned anxiously to Daniel's side. The Owl was holding his butt with one gloved hand, quite aware of how idiotic it made him look.

"Need to see," Rorschach said, clearly not happy with the situation either. Partner or not, he'd rather not be up close and personal with Daniel's ass. It was uncomfortable even thinking about it, made his muscles itch under his skin.

"It's not bleeding too badly," Daniel replied, raising his hand to eye level and looking at the coating of blood there. "It can wait until after we dump these numbskulls at the police station." Really, he was buying time. If the bleeding stopped before they dropped off the knot-tops, Rorschach would probably leave him alone. However, Daniel was pretty sure the cut would need stitches, and both men knew he couldn't stitch his own backside without making matters worse.

Together, they brought Archie down to the street and hauled the would-be muggers onboard. It was a near silent flight to the police station. Daniel was carefully ignoring the burning ache of the slash on his bum, and Rorschach alternated between watching over the gangsters with eagle eyes and staring at his partner, clearly evaluating his situation. The man with the inkblot face made his decision when Daniel finally stood to eject their passenger, and a long stripe of crimson stained the length of his leg.

"Daniel." They had kicked all of the gangsters out of Archie, and were now getting ready to lift off.

"Yes?"

"You need stitches. You're bleeding."

"I'll go to the hospital." Nurses wouldn't know what to make of his new tattoo, and weren't legally allowed to discuss it.

"Can apply stitches better than any minimum wage candy striper, Daniel," Rorschach retorted, sounding a little hurt and offended.

"Damn it, it's my ass, Rorschach-"

"Am mature adult, Daniel. Can stitch your wound, if you stop being foolishly stubborn." Daniel blushed, and refused to look at the swirling black and white mask. If he kept refusing, he was pretty sure Rorschach would hold him down and stitch him up regardless of how he felt about it. Defeated, Daniel sighed, and bowed his head.

"Fine. But you aren't doing it here."

They returned to Daniel's house, where Daniel stripped down to his skivvies. Rorschach respectfully stood outside of the bathroom for this step, uncomfortable with the whole situation, but adamant nonetheless.

"Alright," Daniel finally called, and Rorschach entered, first aid kit in hand. Daniel was leaning over the sink, with his briefs pulled most of the way down on one side, showing a good portion of that cheek's tattoo, as well as the wound. Rorschach stopped and stared for half a second, but quickly caught himself, and threaded the curved needle he would be using.

As always, the stitching process hurt, but Rorschach hadn't lied- he was very good at sewing wounds up. He had probably had more practice than Daniel, who wore more protective leather clothing. Rorschach worked diligently, trying to stitch the cut without touching his partner's bare ass, even though he was still fully clothed, gloves and all. Daniel was embarrassed through the whole thing. There was no way Rorschach could have overlooked the glaring tattoo, harsh against his pale, never-tanned skin.

Finally, Rorschach finished stitching, cut the extra thread, and packed everything away. Daniel hastily pulled up his underwear and wrapped a towel around his waist. He turned to Rorschach, who was standing in the doorway with his face turned away.

"Um, Rorschach, about the tattoo-" But he was cut off.

"Knew you liked birds, Daniel. Wasn't aware of your fascination with Dalmatians." With that, he shook his head almost imperceptibly, and left Daniel in silent wonder.


End file.
